Win Me Over (22 page)

The distinctive sound of bodies shuffling in seats met his ears and he stepped into the supply room to check his phone. He'd done that more often in the past couple of weeks than he'd done in his life. Even crazier, he'd just enjoyed life lately more than he had in a long time. Longer than he could remember. Ironically, it had nothing to do with football. Only a woman, teaching him to dance. Unbelievable.

Practices, while hard, were enjoyable just because she was there. And he was finally getting the hang of it. They could even end up winning. But he didn't even care about that so much anymore. It was Callie who occupied nearly all his thoughts.

The way she touched him, kissed him. And especially the way she'd understood—and even known—that he would go get Tate Friday night. That had shocked him. She hadn't pouted or gotten angry; she'd just accepted it.

She played it cool, always, so unlike other women. She didn't talk about going out together, didn't invite him over, and didn't hint at more. Whatever more was he wasn't really sure. But for some crazy reason he found himself wanting just a
little
more.

More time. More talking. And definitely more touching.

Finding there were no texts or missed calls, he shoved the phone in his pocket and went back to his desk. Everyone was silent, the only sound the scratching of pencils. One of the kids stared aimlessly out the window.

Bennett began grading some papers from his physiology class. Five minutes later one of the freshman girls—Ava, she was on the quiet side, smart—brought him her finished assignment. He motioned for her to put it on a pile at the corner of his desk. She did but then lingered, edging around the desk closer to him.

He looked up at her. “Can I help you, Ava?”

She smiled back and spoke quietly. “Some of the girls and I were wondering what kind of dance you and Coach Daniels are doing?”

Bennett glanced at the other students in the room; two other freshman girls watched, waiting for his answer. “Uhh … well, it's a waltz for the most part.”

“Oh, that's good,” another student called from the closest row.

Ava was still standing at his side. “We're all excited. We made our moms buy tickets.”

He laughed. “Well, don't have your expectations too high. I might look ridiculous.”

“It's cool, though, I mean, that you're doing it.” This was from a guy.

“I'm happy to hear I have all of your support. I'm pretty nervous about it,” Bennett said, and then looked at the clock again. “Y'all only have five minutes, so hurry and get that work done.”

Ava grabbed her backpack and left and Bennett pulled his phone out of his pocket again and opened a text.

BENNETT: Some of my students have bought tickets to see our dance. Better make me look good.

He hit send and stared at it for a minute. It was a Tuesday; she was more than likely really busy at her bakery. She probably wouldn't respond.

Except she did.

CALLIE: Please. We are amazing.

He smiled when he saw the tiny emoticon of a woman dancing. Callie loved using those little pictures.

BENNETT: Are we still meeting tonight?

CALLIE: Of course.

He quickly tried to think of another thing to say. He wished they were together right now, which was a completely insane thought. He was working. She was working. He'd seen her Friday night and would have her in his arms again tonight for practice.

They were still practicing in the gym, but he realized that wasn't what he wanted tonight. He wanted her all to himself.

BENNETT: Come to my place.

She didn't respond for a while and he worried he might have blown it. They were both adults. She knew exactly what he was asking. His phone buzzed.

CALLIE: I'll be there, big boy.

A stupid grin broke out on his face, but he quickly collected himself. He glanced at the students still working.

BENNETT: Good, gotta go.

CALLIE: Bye, Coach.

Followed by a tiny football.

 

Twelve

Callie was exhausted. Today had been rough. The bakery had been unusually busy; she'd had a blog post due for Wednesday—that she'd finished, thank goodness—and dance team practice had been incredibly stressful. The captains were attempting to teach the team a routine they'd choreographed, and while it was really good, no one seemed to be getting it.

Knowing she was sweaty and had flour in her hair, Callie ran home to shower before heading to Bennett's. It was days like this she wondered why she tried to burn the candle at both ends the way she did. It sure would be a lot easier to take her mother's advice and find a rich husband. Have 2.5 children, become president of the PTA, and spend her days lunching with other moms before chauffeuring her children to and fro.

Then again, nope. Just the thought of it was more than she could handle. She was too independent for her own good. She liked the life she had, but damn if it wasn't tiring.

After her shower, she decided to blow-dry her hair straight. She hadn't done it in a while, but it usually made her feel pretty. A little done up. Tonight was going to be … special. She was nearly certain. The fact that Bennett had requested to practice at his place again was the bigger clue, but the other was that everything had been leading up to this. The next step was obvious and she was so ready.

Finally done with her makeup, Callie got in her car and headed through town toward Bennett's house. She couldn't help admiring her bakery as she drove down Main Street. Even closed, it looked so cute with its white-and-pink-striped awning, the scripted
Callie's Confections
logo so bold and lovely. She was so proud of what she'd done.

It seemed like just yesterday that she moved to the small town of Preston. She'd majored in dance and art history, a double major that led to very few job opportunities in the Midwest. Plus by the time she'd graduated she was pretty burnt-out on performance—and her parents—so she'd moved to Preston, where her best friend Eric was from. He'd always spoken so fondly about his quaint little hometown, about all the cute little shops, nice people, and lovely parks. It sounded perfect, and as Callie had grown up in a small town south of Kansas City, one up north offered a familiarity along with the bonus tranquility of being a small road trip away from her mother.

That first summer, Eric had worked for his dad's landscaping business and Callie had immediately gotten a job waitressing at a dive bar in the next town over. She made okay money but loathed the handsy creeps who were regulars and hated even more the way she smelled when she left there. Like beer, tobacco, and broken dreams. Several nights a week she'd get off and go to the all-night supercenter, load up on baking supplies, and go home and create masterpieces in her tiny kitchen.

It was Eric who'd encouraged her to set up shop at the farmers market on Main Street on Saturday mornings. She remembered clearly the day Anne had come to her booth and tried her blueberry scones. They'd come out perfect that weekend, a tender, flaky center and a crunchy outside dusted with sanding sugar. Anne had gone on and on about them and come back the next week with her daughter, Claire, and tried the sugar cookies, then cinnamon rolls the week after that. On the fourth week Anne had asked Callie if she'd do a feature on Anne's blog.

The blueberry scones recipe had rolled out on the
My Perfect Little Life
blog the following Monday and had been a hit. The rest was a blur. Word of mouth spreading like crazy, the blog gaining more and more popularity, until finally Callie had taken out a small loan from her father and opened her own shop. She didn't regret a bit of the hard work. She'd managed to pay off the loan in her first five months of being open, and the store was profiting. Not too bad for a girl with a closet full of tiaras.

Pulling out of town, Callie merged onto the highway that led to Bennett's house. Her nerves kicked up in her stomach. Silly, since they'd already spent quite a bit of time together.

It was a cool day, a little overcast. She hadn't checked the weather, but it looked like rain could fall any moment. The flat grey—nearly fluorescent—tinge of the last rays of daylight only served to make the emerging fall colors more vibrant. She was surprised how lovely the drive up to Bennett's house was, even more so than it had been a few weeks ago. Deep yellows, reds, and oranges dotted the forest. It was breathtaking.

Just as she pulled in, drops began to fall on her windshield. She glanced at the house and saw that the garage door was raised, Bennett and Misha waiting for her. Seeing that big man with his cotton ball of a dog never failed to amuse. This time the little dog stayed put right at the threshold, barking wildly.

Callie grabbed her bag and got out of the car. Misha began to whimper with excitement as Callie approached. She knelt down right away, dropping her bag on the garage floor. “Oh my goodness, oh my goodness.” Callie allowed the little dog to lick her cheeks. She rubbed Misha's ears and head. “You missed me so much, didn't you, Misha?”

When Callie stood up and met eyes with Bennett, her entire body flooded with desire. She'd been thinking of him all day long.

“It's sprinkling,” she said.

“I see that.”

“Practice inside?” Her words were punctuated with distant thunder. Misha scampered off toward the door to the house.

Bennett picked up Callie's bag—a complete gentleman—and without speaking she followed him inside. He led her into the living room and set her bag down on the sofa.

He looked so handsome today, his short hair sticking up in spots, a slight shadow on his sharp jaw. He wore a white long-sleeved T-shirt and Nike pants.

Shaking off her desire to jump him right then and there, she began to dig her phone out of her bag. Bennett showed her where she could plug it into his stereo system and then they both began to push the furniture out of the way in order to have plenty of space. She glanced up at the ceiling; luckily, it was pretty high in the living room.

“Okay, let's do what we've learned so far and then we're going to learn the lift.”

His eyes widened. ‘I've been dreading this.”

She laughed. “Are you thinking I should go on a diet first?”

“Oh god … no. I just—”

“It will be great; everyone will love it.”

She started the music and began to count off. They went through the beginning, then the waltzing, circling around the living room.

“You've been practicing, Coach Clark,” Callie said, looking at him.

He smiled. “Maybe.”

They got through most of the dance, up until the big lift, and she stopped and smiled up at him.

“That was perfect. Didn't that feel perfect?” She was elated. It was the best they'd ever done. He still had a firm grip on her hands as he looked at her. “You've become an expert dancer.”

“I wouldn't go that far, but yeah, it felt pretty good.”

“Okay, once more, and
then
we'll learn the lift.” She restarted the music again and they went through the motions, shooing a curious Misha out of the way a few times with their toes. This time Callie didn't count the whole time, just let them feel their way through it. She loved that it had become natural. Bennett knew the steps, handled her expertly, leading her through the waltz. When she dipped he stared right into her eyes.

The rain had picked up outside, the sky dark and casting the entire living room into shadows. Thunder rattled the windowpanes, and still they danced.

They continued to look at each other, intense, and when they met in the middle she reached up and touched his face. There was no way she could be this close to this man without wanting him. She knew he felt the same, could see it in his eyes, feel it in the way he held her.

Every step felt like foreplay, his hands lingering low on her back, his large thigh moving between her legs as they waltzed. He'd found a way to make it almost inappropriate. There was truly nothing like the feel of a man leading you through a dance with sure and confident steps. It was sexy, romantic, and beautiful.

When they normally would have stopped, after the swirly dip, he pulled her back up and continued to dance them around the living room.

So much for the lift
. She let her hand that rested on his shoulder slide up his neck, touching the hairs at the base of his head. She was almost certain a shiver ran through his body, and still he stared into her eyes. They never lost their footing, never slowed down, lost count, or stopped, until finally the song faded away.

They stood still, wrapped together, hand in hand and chests rising and falling against each other. She saw Bennett's neck work as he swallowed.

“I don't think I can keep doing this and not have you,” he said in a low voice.

“Then have me,” she said.

They stared at each other for a moment and the minute she felt the warmth of his lips against hers she knew she was in trouble. He kissed like a man starving, his hands grasping her face and neck. The slide of his tongue against her own was enough to have her entire body melt against him.

Callie wrapped her arm around his neck, lifting herself higher to his mouth. Her other hand slipped under his shirt, exploring his heated skin, so unyielding but soft to the touch. His lips made their way across her face, under her jaw, and down her neck as she began to back up toward the sofa.

He stopped, halting her movements. “Not here.”

He grabbed her hand and quickly led her down the hall. She barely registered that the
tap tap tap
following her was Misha. Bennett pulled Callie into his bedroom and she watched—all smiles—as Bennett leaned down and shoved the tiny dog out of the room and then slammed the door in her face.

“Aww, you're such a mean daddy,” Callie teased.